


Comfort to Confidence

by KKaylaKayleb



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Other, Sadstuck, Sorry Not Sorry, gets better, hurt/ comfort, lonrly karkat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 20:54:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1955802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KKaylaKayleb/pseuds/KKaylaKayleb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat sighed, closing out of another unsuccessful memo. He leaned back in his chair, raking his hands through his mess of hair and clenching his jaw. Things had not been going well lately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort to Confidence

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little drabble I did. Edited by amazing moirail.

Karkat sighed, closing out of another unsuccessful memo. He leaned back in his chair, raking his hands through his mess of hair and clenching his jaw. Things had not been going well lately.

Among this failed attempt to corral his friends into some form of workable team substance he had given himself a migraine and jammed his third finger trying to type his keyboard to dust.

"Fuck."

He stood, ready to head back to his respiteblock. Recently his memos lacked their usual flourish of constructive rage, the violent and volatile volcano of his platonic hate for his team mates was dwindling to a dormant slab of rock, a useless lump that people had to climb over of go around as an obstruction in their regular path. He was lax, and it was making him sullen. Enough that he even closed the door on his lusus sprite, closing the curtains over his windows to hide the disgusting landscape that mocked his blood color.

He gathered his collection of novels, and then the movies, and some clothes from around his room. And a blanket, which he promptly wrapped around his shoulders and sat on (aka collapsed into) his new pile, rolled onto his stomach, and screamed his frustration into a shirt he had worn at least twice since he last washed it.

He screamed about how stupid everyone he knew was. How Gamzee was always eating his fucking pies and Terezi was too busy licking and smelling everything to be useful and how Vriska was always trying to kill everyone and Feferi was too bubbly and Tavros was too weak and Aradia was too dead and Nepeta was too busy roleplaying and Equius was too sweaty and Sollux was a douchebag and Kanaya was too nice and Eridan was too... Himself. And Karkat was in the middle of it all trying to be a decent leader and nobody would listen to him even though he had a plan and good advice and he really did care about their sorry asses and--

He screamed until his vocal chords strained and then screamed louder till they cracked and broke and dried and he couldn't make any noise above a wheezing whimper. And then, only after screaming himself hoarse, did he begin to cry.

He didn't know he had started, as he tightened his fists in the blanket fabric and pulled it closer to his shaking form. It became obvious that he did not have it in himself to care when, after the first brutal sob tore from his chest, he did not try to stifle his cries, breath hitching in defeat as he curled further in on himself, blubbering and keening like a wriggler.

He spent a the next while lamenting his existence. It had to be a mistake he even made is so far anyway. His friends still didn't know his blood color, but he was certain that they would shun him when they found out. He should just kill himself instead, not like anyone would miss him anyway. But no, that wouldn't even be worth it.

His small frame shook with another sob. Not even enough self loathing to off himself, eh? God he was pitiful. How was it nobody else had realized how fucked up he was and actually taken a little pity on him? A fucking moirail would do him wonders, but who was even left to fit the job?

A quick mental assessment informed him that no one was in any way fit or even probably prepared to take on the kind of emotional commitment he required. The way the blanket felt around him was his only comfort in the world.

He let out a small whimper, pulling it tighter around him, and scooting back against his wall, still on the pile. That... Actually felt a little nice.

He tried to imagine the wall was some large comforting form behind him, someone who gave enough of a shit about him to actually be there when he needed someone. He rubbed a gentle hand over his shoulder, patting it.

God it was pathetic. But... It was working. If getting off on being pale with himself was what it had come to to keep him sane, he figured it couldn't hurt to at least try it. Now how exactly did he get to feeling better?

He rubbed up and down his arm gently, stroking it in a gentle way, despite the strong urge to just tear it to shreds for being so useless and attached to his body. It really didn't feel too bad, but it wouldn't exactly get him primed for life either. What else did moirails do?

Well he knew enough about romance to know they tried to calm each other, but he sure as hell was not going to shooshpap himself now. That would be too embarrassing to even think about seriously. But cheering himself up seemed like a decent option. He attempted to list off the good things in his life.

He... Had his health? Yeah. That seemed like as good a place as any to start.

Not dead didn't quite make the list... Not culled would do though. That was somewhere between convenient and catastrophic.

His lusus was alive, but he was also a bigger pain in the ass as a cryptic game guru than as a guardian.

He... Didn't have to take schoolfeeding anymore? Yeah. That was nice, except that there were a few things he still actually wanted to learn, but it didn't really matter anymore anyway, did it.

He didn't have an obvious mutation, well, a bit not obvious. If he was careful.

He wasn't as stupid as his friends. That one was pretty good, it even brought a little rueful smile to his lips.

He had friends. That one... Yeah. It made him smile, a real smile. Even if they were all enormous pains in his ass, at least he still had friends.

His movie collection was still intact. And his novels. God, he didn't know what he would do if he ever lost those. Classic Alternian literature at its finest, and the films were priceless, no matter what any of his idiot friends said.

Was he a good fighter? Did that count? Fuck it, he was counting it. He could challenge anyone (except Sollux or Aradia, no psychics) on the team (or Eridan, or Kanaya because you don't fight them with flimsy little sickles) and probably, (or Equius, he liked all his bones in one piece) with any luck, (or Vriska because she had luck advantage) beat them (or Feferi or Terezi or Nepeta, no slicing or stabbing thanks) because he was (or Tavros, that's not fair) without a doubt (or Gamzee because the idiot probably couldn't even dodge his slowest hit) the best fighter on the team.

There. He felt... Better. Wow, actually, legitimately better about himself. He was hit by a sudden burst of confidence. THAT felt amazing. He was going to get up and go start a new memo, get his team together, and get this whole thing going. They would beat this game and it would bring more glory to their stupid wriggler asses than all of the planets the Empress had conquered combined. Fuck yes!

He stood, dropping the blanket and heading back to his husktop, renewed, reinvigorated and ready to kick the shit out of anyone who stood in his path. He logged back into Trollian and set to work.

CG: ALRIGHT ASSHOLES, YOUR FEARLESS LEADER IS BACK AND THIS TIME WHETHER YOU BULGEMUNCHES ARE READY FOR IT OR NOT  
CG: WE ARE GOING TO FORMALLY INTRODUCE THIS GAME TO JUST HOW HARD WE CAN KICK ITS GLOBES.


End file.
